


Art School AU: Out of Continuity Drabbles

by abutterflyobsession



Series: Artistic Differences: Strange Magic Art School AU [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6306112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abutterflyobsession/pseuds/abutterflyobsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange Magic Art School AU out of continuity drabbles!</p><p>Fluff, angst, and general out of continuity shenanigans! They're set all all different points in time, so some times Bog and Marianne are still 'just friends', other times they're at various points in their relationship: just dating, married, and so on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Double Dates and Duels

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start sticking all the drabbles over here so they don't get confused with the proper chapters. Eventually I'll move all of them over here, but for now I'm just posting the new ones. The rest are still attached to the main work.

“This was _supposed_ to be a nice double date.”

Outside the restaurant Dawn folded her arms, tilting her head to one side as she directed a stern look first at Bog, then at Marianne. They exchanged a glance with each other out of the corner of their eyes and even though they’re faces were more or less solemn Dawn could clearly see that they were on the verge of some new mischief.

Sunny was holding a bag of baked goods from the restaurant’s attached bakery, munching on some cookies while he watched the scene unfold. Bog and Marianne were standing there, torn between their amusement over the evening and their fear of Dawn, who was radiating righteous indignation like some tiny, golden-haired goddess of justice.

“A nice, romantic, double date.” Dawn continued, “Finally my big sister has a boyfriend and we can all do couple things together. But no. You two ask the waiter if the kitchen refrigerator is running–”

“They should really go catch it.” Marianne murmured, bowing her head when Dawn shot her a sharp look.

“–if they had Prince Albert in a can–”

“Ought to let him out before he suffocates.” Bog remarked, staring vaguely upwards, biting his lip to hold back a smirk.

“–and then you two started setting things on fire with the candles! The server had to take them away! It was so embarrassing!”

“To be fair,” Marianne said, “Bog still has most of his eyebrows.”

“I was just proving a point.” Bog sniffed, “The bread they served us _was_ too dry. Went up in flames like dried straw.”

“It was already toasted! Toast is dry! That is why you put the complimentary butter on it!”

At this point Marianne was shifting around, bouncing up and down a little in an effort to contain her laughter. Bog was scratching the back of his neck and pretending to be very interested in the awning that stretched overhead.

Dawn ran her hands down her face and rolled her eyes toward the awning, as if some sort of heavenly intervention might be lurking the network of metal that supported the striped canvas.

“I’m sorry, Dawn,” Marianne said, somewhat sincerely, “We’re just not a very candles-and-flowers kind of couple. We’re more of a Viking mead hall kind of deal.”

“Apt description,” Sunny agreed, searching in the bag for another cookie, fishing it out and offering it to Dawn, “Loud shouting, heavy drinking, extravagant boasting, violence possibly breaking out at some point … Give it up, Dawn, we can’t reform savages.”

Dawn accepted the cookie and nibbled it as they walked down the street toward the movie theater. So far Dawn’s idea of a fun dinner and a movie double date as not going at all as she had hoped it would. Even after finally getting over themselves and admitting their feelings for each other Bog and Marianne still weren’t really acting much more like a couple than they had been before.

Well, Dawn mused as Sunny put his arm around her waist and they fell into step, maybe a _bit_ more. For example, at that very moment Dawn could see Bog trying to work up the nerve to hold Marianne’s hand. After several attempts cut short by Bog chickening out, his hand brushed Marianne’s and she looked up at him.

“Um, sorry.” He muttered, moving to stick his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Marianne grabbed his hand and started walking faster, making Bog stumble a little before he matched her pace. All Dawn could see was the back of Marianne’s head as she walked with her back ramrod straight and stared dead ahead. Bog shoved his free hand in his pocket and hunched his shoulders, staring at the ground.

Dawn looked over at Sunny and they bent their heads to hide their smiles.

“I can’t wait to see how long it takes Bog to actually propose.” Sunny said in a low aside to Dawn.

She smacked him. “You’re not one to talk. How long did it take you to ask me out? Oh, that’s right, you never did! _I_ had to do it!”

“Yeah.” Sunny said, smiling happily at the memory.

“Hey,” Marianne turned around, “We can hear you two back there!”

Dawn and Sunny giggled.

“I guess now is as good a time to tell them as any, Marianne,” Bog said, his tone serious as he took the bag of baked goods from Sunny.

“It probably is.” Marianne nodded, her expression turning serious.

“Tell us what?” Dawn asked, glancing from one of them to the other, “What’s going on?”

“Well, you see,” Bog said, slowly rolling out his words, “We’re already engaged.”

“ _What_?!” Dawn shrieked.

Sunny squeaked wordlessly.

Marianne’s serious expression broke and a huge grin spread across her face as she said, “Yes, we’re engaged— _in_ _combat_!”

In the blink of an eye Bog had liberated one of the baguettes from the shopping bag and tossed it to Marianne. She caught it and gave it a flourish, discarding the brown paper it had been wrapped in. Bog drew out the other and shoved everything else back into the hands of a stunned Sunny. He weakly held on, his eyes glued on the events unfolding before him.

Bog held his baguette up like a sword and addressed Marianne in an amiable tone, “You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow,” Marianne bowed, “I hate to die.”

Bread clashed against bread in a shower of crusty flakes and the two of them began to duel in earnest in the middle of the sidewalk, other pedestrians having to circle around them. Some passerbys stopped and took out their phones to take pictures and video while Bog and Marianne exchanged a flurry of blows in flashy stage-fighting style.

“Those were for sandwiches for tomorrow’s lunch.” Dawn said faintly.

“It’s our own fault.” Sunny said sadly, “For giving them access to vaguely sword-shaped bread.”

“You’re amazing!” Bog said, dodging a jab from Marianne’s baguette.

“Thank you,” Marianne replied, “I’ve worked hard to become so!”

“I admit it, you are better than I am.”

Marianne narrowed her eyes, “Oh? Then why are you smiling?”

“Because I know something you don’t know!” Bog sang gleefully.

“And what is that?”

“I’m not left-handed!” Bog switched the baguette over to his right hand and renewed his attack.

Marianne barely blocked him, pretending to strain to push away his baguette, “You’re amazing!” She said with great sincerity, “But there’s something I ought to tell you.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not left handed either!” Now Marianne switched hands and drove Bog back, slashed her baguette hard against his one last time, and then both loaves—having miraculously retained their integrity until that moment—broke into pieces.

Marianne looked at the remainder of the baguette still in her hand. “Knife fight?” She suggested to Bog.

“Okay, you two!” Dawn said, “Break this up or there’ll be consequences! We’re going to be late for our movie!”

“Consequences?” Bog snorted, “What’s a wee fairy princess going to—ow! What is that—ow!”

“This is a biscotti shiv,” Dawn said sweetly, jabbing Bog hard in the side again, “Now quick march toward that theater or you get twice-baked Italian cookie right in the kidney.”

Bog dropped the crushed remnants of his weapon and held up his hands in surrender. “Sometimes, Marianne,” He remarked conversationally, “I remember that she’s your sister.”

“I’m so proud.” Marianne said, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. “Ow! Hey!”

“Hello.” Sunny said from behind her, “If you wouldn’t mind cleaning up this bread so we can get to our movie? Thanks!”

“Okay,” Marianne huffed, gathering pieces of baguette off the ground, “Whose idea was it to get those stupid biscotti? Because I want to have a word with them about it!”

Bread gathered up and disposed of, Bog and Marianne still at biscotti-point, they all began to march briskly to the theater.

Dawn poked Bog in the ribs and ordered, “Now you two hold hands! And during the movie I want to see your arm around Marianne’s shoulders, got it?”

“Don’t push it, princess. Ow! Fine.”

Bog grabbed Marianne’s hand and turned back to make a face at Dawn.

“We should have tried this earlier.” Sunny chuckled, “Held them up with Italian cookies and ordered them to admit their love for each other.”

“It’s dark in the theater,” Marianne said loudly to Bog, “No one will see us drown them in those buckets of icee they always buy.”

“Good idea.” Bog agreed, “But we’ll have to play along for the moment.” He let go of Marianne’s hand and put his arm around her waist. Marianne snorted, but imitated the gesture, patting Bog on the back where he had been stabbed.

They remained like that on the rest of the walk to the theater while Dawn and Sunny contentedly ate their weaponry.


	2. Cuddle Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one pair of nerds spy on another pair of nerds.

A piercing giggle started to make its way around the studio but was abruptly stifled when Dawn buried her face in the front of Sunny’s shirt. Her shoulders were still shaking with laughter and Sunny carefully patted her fluffy hair while trying to keep the camera steady in his other hand.

Dawn resurfaced, face pink and hands pressed tightly over her mouth. They were crouched behind Bog’s latest sculpture which had a nice wide base to accommodate their shaky attempts at concealment. There was a powerful smell of strong glue coming off the piece, probably from the hundreds of tiny shards of broken mirror Bog had started attaching that morning. Sunny and Dawn were trying to remain at least mostly hidden, keep their giggles quiet, and not breathe in too many fumes from the glue, all while keeping the camera pointed at the unsuspecting subjects of a spontaneous art film.

It was Sunday and technically no one was allowed in the studio, but that never stopped Bog from sharing his all access pass, which took the form of Brutus the security guard who was a long time friend of Bog’s and amiable enough to provide him with a copy of the studio key.

That was why the weekend afternoon had found Bog and Marianne dozing on the couch in a patch of warm sunshine, sketchbooks slipping out of their hands as they lost the battle for consciousness. Dawn and Sunny had come up to take advantage of the quiet and space of the studio to work on their own projects, but were quickly sidetracked by the sight of the two idiots on the couch.

As had long been usual for them, Bog was laying across the couch, long legs hooked over the arm rest, while Marianne was on the back of the couch, awkwardly sketching on her narrow perch. Sunny and Dawn arrived just in time to see sleep winning the upper hand and Marianne slithering off the back of the couch and onto Bog. He made a sleepy sort of ‘oof!’ noise and wrapped his arm around Marianne.

“You’re too bony.” Marianne complained, wiggling around until her head was tucked under Bog’s chin. One arm hung over the side of the couch, her relaxed fingers dangling just above her discarded sketchbook.

“Mmm.” Bog replied, rubbing her back until she made sleepy noises of contentment.

It had been a challenge not to burst into giggles at the sight of the self-proclaimed haters of love being so snuggly, but Dawn and Sunny managed it. Barely. Slipping off their shoes they moved around the studio in their socks to avoid disturbing the pair of sleepers and kept their mirth under control for the most part.

“My arm is going numb,” Marianne murmured, “Leggo so I can move.”

Bog rumbled in a breath and held on a little tighter, “No.”

“Okay.”

There was sleepy silence for a considerable time and Dawn managed to write five hundred words for her essay while Sunny went through the photographs he had taken over the week to see which would work for his next assignment. They sat on the floor with their books and supplies spread out around them. Sunny had his legs stretched out in front of him and Dawn had her legs thrown over his lap. When she hit a difficult bit of her essay her feet would start wiggling and when she couldn’t find the quote she needed to back up her point they wiggled so hard that Sunny had to grab her ankle to save his laptop from being punted across the room.

A yelp and thump brought their attention back to the couch’s occupants.

It seemed that Marianne had twitched her leg in her sleep—rather violently—startling the drowsing Bog so much that he had toppled off the couch, taking Marianne with him. They were tangled up together on the floor, Bog with his shoulder and arm squishing Marianne, neither of them truly awake even after the upset.

Sunny had his camera out before Dawn could even finish whispering, “We need to film this for posterity!” They had taken up position behind the sculpture and began their stealthy recording of the incident.

“Ruddy devil, tough girl,” Bog was saying in a very thick accent, “Wha’ was _tha_ ’?”

“I was _sleeping_ ,” Marianne grumbled, “Then _you_ threw us off the couch.”

“I was being attacked.”

“Wasn’t me. Was sleeping.”

“Wee assassin.”

“Now ’m being squashed … giant … pine cone. Assassin.”

“The most you can charge me with is manslaughter.”

“I can’t _breathe_.”

“Involuntary manslaughter.” Bog yawned, but he moved enough to let Marianne breathe again, apparently, for she made no further complaints on that topic. Now they were laying on their sides, facing each other. Marianne was curled up against Bog’s chest, his broad shoulders dwarfing her, one of his arms thrown over her and hand pressed onto her back while he buried his face in her hair.

“Is that nuzzling?” Dawn asked Sunny, “Or nestling?”

“It’s unbearably cute, that’s what it is. I’m going to grab a still of that and have it framed.”

“Griselda will want a copy. She’ll show it to all her friends.”

Behind the sculpture Dawn was having her own trouble breathing, biting her lips hard to keep from shrieking with laughter. Sunny’s camera was set in a crook of the sculpture now, allowing him to hug Dawn and they both smashed their faces into each other’s shoulders to muffle their laughter.

“I’m going to play this video,” Dawn whispered, “The next time they complain about us being too cute and cuddly.”

“Sh, sh!” Sunny warned, “He’s humming to her!”

Dawn listened and when she realized Bog was humming Elvis’s _Can’t Help Falling In Love_ she nearly exploded with the absolute adorableness of it all. Naturally, Marianne ended up ruining the moment by accidentally elbowing Bog in the stomach. How much of an accident it really was, Dawn couldn’t honestly say.

Sunny left the camera running and they moved their homework to behind the sculpture so they couldn’t miss any further developments. Dawn found her missing quote and was wrestling with citing her sources when Marianne rolled out of Bog’s arms.

Bog made a pathetic little noise and reached out toward her.

“Get off,” She mumbled, “Too hot.”

Bog rolled over onto his stomach and made further sad, sleepy noises that Dawn really, really hoped the camera was picking up.

“Shut up.” Marianne said, but she scooted a little closer and scratched Bog’s back until his said noises turned into contented humming and then into soft snoring. She giggled in a very un-Marianne way and kissed the tip of Bog’s nose, “Remember when we thought we were just friends?”

That was the final straw for Dawn.

Marianne had been in the act of stretching when Dawn’s hysterical shriek of laughter struck the room like a bolt of lightning and what would have been a harmless gesture ended up with Marianne’s fist connecting with Bog’s face.

Dawn and Sunny were rolling on the floor behind the sculpture, crushing books and papers while they clung to each other and shrieked with hysterical laughter. The sight of Marianne and Bog looming over them only made them laugh all the harder.

“Oooh,” Sunny gasped, “Cuddling is so groooss! It’s sappy and dumb and I would never be caught dead being so mushy and sweet!”

“Frauds!” Dawn said, “You’re both frauds! You’re secretly cuddle demons! This whole time your tough act was nothing but a cover for your squishy, romantic natures!”

Marianne stood there, still blurry with sleep and hair wildly disheveled. She pulled up a fallen overall strap and squinted at the sculpture. “Bog …”

“We are not pushing it over onto them.” Bog said, rubbing the back of his neck and blinking sleep out of his eyes. “I’ve been working on that for two weeks. How about we push them down the stairs instead?”

“Uh oh,” Dawn said, “I think they mean business. Initiate escape maneuver Roll Out!”

Dawn wrapped her arms tight around Sunny and the two of them began to roll across the room, their giggling only increasing as they went.

“That hasn’t been funny _or_ effective since you were ten!” Marianne said with great weariness. “You’re dead for this!”

“Can it wait?” Bog yawned, “I’m up for killing them, but disposing of the bodies is such a pain when you’re tired. And bruised.” He rubbed his face.

“That was not my fault.”

“It was your fist. In my face. I’m pretty sure you were involved somehow, Mari.”

“ _They_ are the true culprits here. Remember that.” Marianne gestured dramatically at Sunny and Dawn, who had hit a wall and collapsed into a giggling pile.

“I know,” Bog said, his accent still heavy, “But my blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t push it, Bog, or I can make that happen for real.”

“You know you’re not fooling anybody,” Sunny called, “by pretending to be all grouchy. It’s too late, your snuggling was witnessed and we will tell the world the truth!”

Bog drew in a deep breath through his nose, eyes squeezing shut for a moment, “Alright, tough girl, we’ll destroy them now.”

Dawn’s giggling was cut off at the sight of the two menacing figures stalking toward them. “Uh oh. Sunny?”

“What, Dawn?”

“Run!”


	3. Christmas Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> totally doesn't fit into the continuity of the story, but have a couple of nerds being nerds

“Marry me, Bog.”

The question was launched from behind, striking Bog squarely between the shoulder blades with enough force to make him double over while he choked on his eggnog. He had been disgruntled to have to endure unspiked eggnog—seeing as he wasn’t supposed to really mix alcohol with his prescription—but as the thick liquid attempted to exit through his nose he was glad it was only eggnog. The burn of alcohol in his sinuses would have probably done him in entirely.

“Marianne,” Bog wheezed, coughing into a napkin, “this is so sudden.”

“A little too sudden, apparently,” Marianne said, patting him on the back of his hideous green Christmas sweater. Only Bog’s natural aversion to dulling the manic twinkle in Dawn’s eyes kept him from refusing to wear her gift to him, the monstrosity that was emblazoned with a pattern of colorful Christmas tree baubles and seasoned heavily with glitter.

“Good try, though,” Bog said, recovering his voice, “You almost did me in. Next time make sure to finish me off completely.”

“You aren’t getting out of dinner with my family that easy, pal.”

“A man can dream.”

Marianne’s father had pleaded for his daughters to spend the holidays with their family and they had agreed, with the condition that Bog and Griselda be invited to join them. Bog found this decision highly questionable. While it did mean he didn’t have to say good-bye to Marianne for two weeks it also meant he had to endure the scrutiny of her extended family.

“Look,” Marianne snorted, “ _You_ get to leave at the end of the night and go to a nice quiet hotel. _I_ have to stay and share a room with Dawn and two of my teenage cousins. _Plus_ various aunts and female cousins coming in and out to interrogate me about my poor life choices.”

“Quiet hotel room?” Bog tried to laugh but ended up coughing, “I’m sharing with my mother. She and silence are not on speaking terms.”

“But you’re used to that!”

“She snores, Mari.”

“Use earplugs! Look, are you going to or not?”

“Use earplugs?”

“No! What I was asking before you almost died.”

“Before you almost successfully assassinated me, you mean.”

“You’re splitting hairs.”

“No, it’s my mom’s snoring that does that.”

Marianne aimed a smack at his arm and he leaned back to avoid it, putting down his eggnog and grabbing her hand as she made a second attempt. There was a minute or two of giggling and wrestling that ended up with Bog’s arms wrapped around Marianne to prevent her from continuing her assault.

“Your stupid sweater is going to get glitter all over me!”

“Sweet, sparkling justice.”

“Look, are you going to marry me or not?”

“You’re not even down on one knee, tough girl, this is disappointing. Where’s the ring?”

“I got you brass knuckles.”

“Diamond-encrusted, I hope. Now, why this sudden proposal slash assassination attempt?”

“I just got cornered in the kitchen by my aunt Sue,” Marianne wiggled until Bog loosened his hold enough for her to get her arms free and wrap them around his waist, “who is deeply concerned about this rebellious phase I am currently going through.”

“You mean, like, your entire life?”

“Going to art school, dating unsuitable guys … you know.”

“I wore the sweater and I haven’t killed anybody, how much more suitable can I act?”

“You’d need a trust fund and an executive position in a skyscraper for my dad’s family to even consider you properly suitable. But Dawn says to tell you thanks.”

“For what?”

“For distracting everyone from picking on Sunny. In fact, it seems after my relatives caught sight of you they started to welcome Sunny into the fold with open arms. Or, at least, realizing it could be worse.”

“And I’m worse?”

“Decidedly,” Marianne stood on her tip-toes to kiss Bog’s chin.

“Even though I shaved today? Twice?”

“They sense the perma-stubble that grows on your heart.”

“And marrying you would help this situation … how?”

“First of all it would dash their hopes that I’d break up with you and get together with one of the trust fund candidates they’ve been promoting–”

“They’d just slip you a card for a good divorce attorney.”

“Hush,” Marianne pushed herself up again to press a quick kiss to Bog’s mouth, “let me dream. Secondly, we could elope. Right now. Immediately. Hop into your truck and skip town, never be heard of again.”

“You want to marry me for my truck. I knew it.”

“I cannot lie. It is the most beautiful piece of rust held together by patches and prayers I have ever met.”

“I feel so used,” Bog said happily, ruffling Marianne’s hair before pushing it back out of her face and leaning down to kiss her.

Marianne put her fingertips on his lips, “You haven’t answered. Bog King, will you marry me and take me away from all this?”

“No.”

“No?! Why not?!”

“Because you love your dad and don’t want to give him a heart attack?”

“… that is dreadfully reasonable.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

“No. I’ve been rejected. I’m distraught.”

In contradiction to her words Marianne settled against Bog, heedless of the peril of glitter transference.

They were in the hallway that led to the bedrooms, which was dark and deserted while the family milled around in the living and dining rooms in anticipation of dinner. Someone was singing Rocking Around the Christmas Tree in a way that indicated they had partaken freely of the before-dinner cocktails.

“You okay, love?” Bog asked.

“Mmhm,” Marianne said into the front of his sweater, “Well, no. Not after that brutal rejection.”

“I will only marry for love.”

“Oh, I guess we could do that too.”

“Um,” Bog said uncomfortably, feeling heat rising in his face. He could only avoid embarrassment in the back-and-forth of their banter for so long before sneaky little thoughts darted back into his head. Especially that one that jumped up and down shouting “ _yes!_ ” every time Marianne made a joke about getting married.

Marianne went stiff, “Um. You do know I’m just joking, right? I’ve had a couple of drinks and my sense or humor always gets weird after–”

“Yeah! Of course.”

“But—but not like in the it could never happen way—oh, just kill me now,” Marianne hid her face, “Kill me now and never let me near the open bar again. Okay, back into the ring!”

With a brisk shove, Marianne separated herself from Bog and whirled around to head back to the party. Bog only caught a glimpse of her bright-red cheeks, twinkling with specks of glitter…

… before she walked straight into the door frame.

* * *

After an interlude of panic—mostly on Bog’s part—Marianne was parked on the counter of the bathroom while Bog cleaned the small cut on the bridge of her nose.

“Only you would actually walk into a door,” he said, sticking a bandaid on the cut before taking Marianne by the chin and turning her head to the light so he could check for bruising.

“Now I need to break your nose.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“Because everyone is going to think someone hit me and I want to be able to say ‘you should see the other guy’.”

“So my nose must be sacrificed for your dignity.”

“I have to explain two black eyes somehow.”

“I don’t think you’ll achieve quite that much color. The door went easy on you,” Bog released her chin and turned to close the bathroom cabinet.

“I want a rematch.”

“Please, find your peace with failure. I don’t want to spend the holidays burying my girlfriend.”

“Your confidence in me is touching.”

“I will not let love blind me to reality.”

“Y'know, if we eloped then nobody would even see my ravaged face–”

Bog stuck a bandaid over her mouth, “What was that? Some wise-guy remark?”

Marianne narrowed her purple-framed eyes at him.

Leaning forward, hands braced on the counter on either side of Marianne, Bog grinned, “Speak up, love, I can’t hear you.”

Marianne ripped off the bandaid and grabbed Bog’s face, pulling him in for a kiss.

This, as no doubt was Marianne’s intention, silenced Bog completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking I've been doing better and that I can start writing and updating on a regular schedule, but alas. It seems after three different medications for depression that I actually have a type of bipolar disorder, which explains the sudden bursts of productivity and then crashing back into depression.
> 
> So, hopefully I am not on the right medication and will get my fics updating in the coming year


	4. I Really Can't Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roderick and Adeline fluff

“Addy, I love you beyond reason, but you’re absolutely stark staring bonkers.”

Roderick followed Adeline around the apartment as she gathered up the paraphernalia necessary for venturing outside for the day. She already had her long hair stowed under a knit cap and a scarf wrapped around her neck and tucked under the collar of her coat. Snow on the ground made the early morning sunlight come through the window in dazzling brightness that reminded Adeline to grab her sunglasses off her dresser and slip them on as she came back out into the living room.

Roderick continued to trail after her, two-year-old Gwill in his arms. Both of them were still in their pajamas and both of them were making deliberately sad faces at her. Roderick, broad-shouldered and towering a few inches about six feet, his jaw dark with morning stubble, looked hilarious with a childish pout pulling his lips down. The right sleeve of his pajamas flapped, empty, his prosthesis laying on on the floor from when Gwill was using it earlier to help represent the carnage of a battle wagged between his stuffed animals and toy soldiers.

“Addy, you won’t get the car past the end of the road before you get stuck in the snow. And if you do the traffic is going to be crawling at a snail’s pace. Just skip today.”

“Stay home, mommy,” Gwill said. After a moment’s consideration he added, “Please.”

“Yeah, mommy, stay home,” Roderick pouted, “If you leave us here alone the remaining construct of civilized behavior will crumble and we’ll regress back to our primal natures. We’ll draw on the walls and eat all the sugar in the apartment.”

“That’s too bad. Have you seen my wallet?”

“I ate it.”

“Rod.”

“Under those magazines on the coffee table.”

“Thank you.”

“Stay home, Addy. If not for my sake, but for Gwill’s. If you die out there I’ll have to raise him all by myself and you know I’m a bad influence. Especially on a squishy little developing mind. I’ll lead him down dark paths.”

“Just so long as you make sure he eats his vegetables and gets put down for an afternoon nap.”

“Please, Addy, of _course_. You can’t properly take up a life of depravity without enough sleep and veg. Besides, Gwill likes his veg, don’t you?”

“I like …” Gwill started to agree, but got distracted trying to play with Roderick’s earrings, “I like …”

“Like what?”

“You!”

“Awww, you slay me, kid. Addy, do you realize how many more precious moments you’ll miss if you recklessly throw yourself out into the snow?”

“I’m sure you’ll record anything important,” Adeline replied, smiling slightly at the thought of the ridiculous amount of footage he had already filmed in the past few months. It was not unusual on any given work day for Adeline to receive two or more short videos of Gwill’s precious moments. The latest one was of Gwill doing a little pseudo tap dance after seeing a Fred Astaire movie. Which, Adeline admitted to herself, she was very glad Roderick had recorded.

“I’ll see you guys tonight,” Adeline gave Gwill an exaggeratedly loud kiss on the cheek and he giggled loudly before giving her one in return. She ruffled his blond curls and gave a little wave as she headed to the door.

“What about me?” Roderick demanded.

“You haven’t shaved.”

“This is discrimination! Just because Gwill has delightfully chubby baby cheeks doesn’t mean my rugged, manly jaw should be neglected! Oh, thank you!”

Gwill had obligingly kissed Roderick.

“You see, Addy? _He_ loves me!”

“He’s young, Rod. He doesn’t know any better.”

Roderick gave an exaggerated gasp, “Addy! You wound me!”

“Bye, Rod.”

“I made tea! You need to stay and drink your tea, at least!”

“Not all of us are British and dependent on tea.”

“You’re better than this, Adeline! Don’t behave like an uncivilized _beast_.”

“I’m going now.”

“Aw, but, _baby, it’s cold outside_!”

Roderick sang the last few words, bouncing Gwill up and down.

“I really can’t stay,” Adeline said, trying not to smile.

“ _Baby, it’s cold outside_!”

“I’ve got to go away.”

“ _Baby, it’s cold outside,_ ” Roderick grabbed a mug off the counter and held it out to Adeline, Gwill tucked in the crook of his arm.

“Well,” Adeline put her keys back in her pocket, “Maybe just a half a drink more.”

“ _Put on some music while I pour_ ,” Roderick sang, depositing Gwill on the couch and going over to pick the kettle off the stove.

“ _I oughtta say no, no, no sir_ ,” Adeline finally gave in and sang, thinking of the rounds she was supposed to be making at the hospital, the medical texts she needed to pick up from the library, “ _Oh, I really can’t stay, but it’s cold outside_.”

“ _Look out the window at that storm_ ,”

Adeline laughed a little, looking at the sunlight pouring in through the window. The snow was piled high but it had stopped snowing before morning. Snow plows would be coming through to clean up soon and it was possible she could get the car through the drifts even before that.

She sipped the tea and glanced at the clock. It was nice tea. She wasn’t a fan of tea but Roderick really knew how to brew a good cup. Gwill tugged on her coat until she picked him up off the floor and let him help her blow on the tea to cool it down.

“Careful, it bites!” He warned her. He had been saying that instead of “it’s hot” since he burned his mouth on a piece of pizza and Roderick had asked if it had bitten him.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Adeline said, taking another sip of tea, “You blew away all its teeth.”

“Now, I _really_ can’t stay.”

Gulping down another mouthful of tea, Adeline kissed Gwill good bye again and rushed out the door before Roderick could start singing again.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Roderick grinned as Addy’s snow-covered form re-entered the apartment.

“I told you! Did you drive the car into a drift?”

“I haven’t been able to dig it out,” Adeline admitted, brushing snow off her shoulders. Gwill rushed forward and began to scoop snow off her clothing to try and make a snowball.

“Victory!” Roderick did a fist pump.

“Oh, is it?” Adeline raised an eyebrow, stepping out of her boots and padding over to Roderick in her stocking feet.

“Uh, yeah? You have to stay home and spend your day entertaining me!”

“Is that so?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Oh, in that case …”

Adeline threw her arms around Roderick, snow-covered coat and all. Roderick made a shrill noise that sounded something like, “That’s _cold_!” Adeline just kissed his stubbly cheek.

“What kind of ice-cold love is this?!”

“Revenge, my friend, is best served cold.”

“You have an ice cube in place of a heart, Adeline. I’ve only ever loved you for your ability to stitch up my wounds and keep me from killing myself.”

An icy hand touched the back of his neck and he broke free, yelping.

“No more tea for you! It is all my tea now! I need it to thaw out from your frozen touch!”

“I can’t help it, Rod,” Adeline grinned a little, pulling off her cap and scarf, “It’s cold outside.”

“Now dare you–”

A slushy snowball smacked the front of his pajama shirt.

Gwill’s round face grinned impishly at him over the back of the couch.

Roderick slumped dramatically to the floor, “This betrayal has been complete and devastating. Did you ever love me at all? Addy? Gwill?”

“Not even slightly, Rod. Don’t drip on the carpet, please.”


	5. Things You Said When You Were Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potionless Baby Fluff to fill a tumblr prompt

“But _why_?”

“I don't know why! I just do!”

“Dawn, I am not letting you eat dirt!”

“I didn't say I was going to! I just said I _wanted_ to. You asked me what I was craving and I told you it was weird. And I don't _want_ to want to. Why would I want to eat dirt? Yuck. Especially when the neighborhood cats use our yard as a litter box.”

“Okay, okay,” Sunny took his wife by the elbow and gently guided her back into the armchair.

It wasn't just an armchair. It was The Armchair, always referred to with strong feelings of importance. It was a hideous piece of furniture, a painful shade of cheap mustard and blotched with a pattern that may have been intended to be flowers, but that was only a guess. The pattern was possibly colored an orange-red. It was hard to be sure and Dawn and Sunny had spent slower evenings arguing whether it was orange, red, or some new color previously unknown to humankind.

The only virtue of The Armchair was that Dawn was comfortable in it. Six months pregnant, Dawn found most furniture unsuitable in either comfort or size, and only the wide squashy shape of The Armchair let her settle down and relax.

“Why did we decide to have triplets?” Dawn asked, sounding worn out even though it wasn't even past noon yet, “We should have just had them one at a time like sensible people.”

Sunny sat on the arm of The Armchair and put an arm around his wife, “I don't think we actually decided this. It was an unavoidable quirk of fate, glitter angel.”

“Ugh,” Dawn rubbed her stomach, crumpling up her sunflower print maternity dress, “I shouldn't complain. The poor little birds are the ones who have to share such a crowded living space.”

“Maybe that will help them be okay with sharing a room when they're older.”

“We can hope.”

“Okay,” Sunny squeezed Dawn's shoulders, “about the dirt craving . . .”

“Oh, just forget about that. I'm so embarrassed.”

“Hold on,” Sunny took out his phone and typed in a search with one thumb, unwilling to let go of his wife, “I'm looking up what sort of things are in dirt. Maybe we can find a tastier substitute for my sugar muffin.”

“You're the best husband in the whole wide world, Sunny Bunny.”

“I do my best, sunshine. You're doing all the heavy lifting.”

Dawn put her head on Sunny's leg. Her hair had been washed but not styled, leaving it more poofy than curly so her usual blonde sun rays were replaced by a soft roundness. Sunny played with the soft ends while he searched google for dirt substitutes.

“Oh no,” Dawn said suddenly.

“What, what?” Sunny dropped his phone and grabbed Dawn by the shoulders as she sat up. Tears were pooling in her blue eyes and her lips were trembling, “are you okay? What's wrong? Do you hurt somewhere?”

Several tears slid down Dawn's reddening face before she said in a choked voice, “I think—I think my craving just changed.”

“Oh? Oh! Okay,” Sunny tried not to laugh as he grabbed a box of tissues. Tissue boxes had been scattered around the house just for such occasions, “that's fine. What do you want? Not concrete or asphalt, I hope.”

Dawn let out a sob as Sunny wiped her face, “I want blue cheese.”

“Blue cheese?”

“Y-yes. Like, the worst, most barnyardy blue cheese you can find,” she gulped in a breath and let it out as another sob, “with—with honey!”

“Okay, that's totally doable, sparkle cookie. Don't cry.”

“I don't _want_ to cry. It's just _happening_!”

“I know, I know,” Sunny took her in his arms and rocked her back and forth as best he could from his seat on the arm of The Armchair, “you cry if you need to. Want to go sit in the nursery? That always makes you feel better.”

“Y-yeah.”

Sunny was shorter than his wife, but he had always been able to lift her easily and even with the addition of triplets he had no trouble transferring her to the couch. The Armchair was moved to the nursery and Dawn reinstalled in it.

Dawn and Sunny had been painting the walls to look like a bright and sunny landscape. Bog and Marianne had turned up their noses at it, saying it had no character. Dawn and Sunny held the opinion that just because it wasn't covered in splatters didn't mean it wasn't art.

Blue skies and soft rolling hills spread across the walls. They had been using references from Studio Ghibli films which always had such a soft, comforting feeling. Dawn had been painting the three little birds, both a reference to their favorite song and their nickname for the triplets.

Three white cribs were in place and soft toys filled the shelves to bursting except where there were stacks of children's books and empty photo albums. An envelope of ultrasound pictures were tucked away in a drawer, ready to be scrapbooked along with all the inevitable baby photos. There were months left before the babies were expected but Sunny always carried his camera everywhere just in case. He didn't want to risk missing taking pictures of the triplets' first day in the outside world.

Dawn sobbed while hugging a yellow stuffed bunny, “I'm just so happy!”

“Me too, glitter angel, me too.”

“I love everything so much! I love this room, I love you, I love our babies, I love this bunny! I even love that horrible foam skull Marianne gave us!”

The emotion Dawn felt over the skull overwhelmed her so much she was beyond words. For several minutes she cried into Sunny's shoulder. When she regained the ability to speak she said, “Oh, freckle-speckles, everything is just wonderful, I can't take it.”

“Want me to stay, or get your barnyardy blues?”

Dawn snuffled, “I've got tissues and a bottle of water and I'll probably swing up into hyper housewife soon. Don't stay away too long or we'll be flooded with cookies.”

“Don't worry, our neighbors love taking the excess. Just don't scrub the tub or anything like that. Chemicals aren't good for you.”

“I'm feeling oatmeal cookies. I don't want to eat them, but I really want to make them.”

“Okay, have a nice cry,” Sunny kissed her lips, tasting salt from her tears, “I'll be back in a jiffy.”

“Bye-bye. Drive safe. I love you, honeybunch.”

“Love you too, sugarpie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "but where is a chapter of the main storyline?" you ask, nay, DEMAND
> 
> it is currently waiting for me to have the right energy to write that. Right now I'm doing silly tumblr prompts and that's all I have the emotional health for
> 
> (sorry)


	6. Things You Said I Wasn't Meant to Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> filling a tumblr prompt, beware of fluff and nerds

Marianne loved her dad.

Marianne squeezed her phone and reminded herself again that she loved her dad and that if she just had patience he would eventually understand that her relationship with Bog was serious. He would understand that his daughter was an adult capable of making informed, rational choices.

Rational. Yes, she had to remain calm and rational. Even if her shoulders were so tight it felt like her muscles would snap, even if her ear was hot and sore from pressing the phone too hard against it. No matter what, she had to maintain her position with cool assurance. She couldn’t snap and whine like a teenager about a crush.

Marianne would remain calm.

She _was_ calm. Completely, absolutely, totally—

“He’s just not someone that will last, long-term,” her father said, “once the novelty wears off you’ll both see you have nothing in common. As well, you have to consider that even if he was anticipating any sort of indefinite relationship with you he doesn't—and likely never will—have the resources to support both of you.”

“Why don’t you just say ‘money’, dad?” Marianne swallowed, her stomach churning so badly she was close to gagging, “Why can’t you ever say that? Resources. Capital. Security. Just say _money_! Because that’s what you care about!”

“Marianne, I care about _you_.”

“If you cared you would _listen to me_. You would understand that I love Bog and he loves me and that is not going to stop if his bank account dips below a certain amount! Our relationship is so long-term we’re going to _get_ married and _be_ married for the next hundred years. We’re going to have twelve kids and if you ever want to meet any of them you’ll get with the program! Now, I am going to hang up, then I am going to find Bog and kiss him until our lips fall off! Chew on that image for awhile!”

Marianne wished she had been on a land line phone so she could slam the receiver down. Instead she jabbed the 'end call’ button and threw the phone on the floor. The back of it came off, clattering under the couch, the battery landing on open carpet.

So much for calm.

“So …”

Marianne nearly jumped out of her skin when someone spoke from behind her. She snapped around, heart in her throat, still shaking from the conversation.

It was Bog.

Leaning against the door frame in a relaxed slouch, wearing his scuffed leather jacket that he had no idea how good he looked in, he was smirking with incredible smugness.

“Was that a promise, then?” he asked, lifting a questioning eyebrow, “Because I’ve only got a half hour until work. I don’t know if that will be enough time to detach our lips completely, but I’m willing to give it my best.”

Marianne made strangled noises and covered her face with her hands, “Why don’t you learn to _knock_!”

“I did. You probably couldn’t hear me over your intense burning rage, so I used the key.”

“That is for _emergencies_.”

“I thought you might have been killing a burglar. And, twelve kids? I was thinking more of six, but I might go as high as eight, depending. I mean, _you’re_ the one giving birth, so you’ve got more invested in the decision–”

Marianne threw a canvas at him. This forced him to duck and ruin his languid pose.

“Why can’t you just shut up and let me _die_?”

Marianne dropped herself on the back of the couch, sticking her head in the space between the couch and the wall. It was dark there and sound was muffled. If not for a small colony of spiderwebs she might have considered spending the rest of her life there.

Bog sat down on the couch, “We’re running low on time for that whole kissing thing.”

With a pained groan Marianne slithered further down behind the couch, her legs sticking  up in the air.

“Oh, I understand,” Bog patted her ankle, “I don’t have enough capital. All I have to give you is a my heart and a bog full of bad sculptures. A mere pittance.”

“They’re _good_ sculptures,” Marianne said, kicking his hand off.

“Come out of there,” Bog laughed, grabbing her ankle again and pulling.

“Nooo!” Marianne tried to shake him off and complete her head-first trip down into comforting darkness.

“Yes!” Bog stood up and grabbed both her ankles.

“Leave me in my tomb of shame!”

“You must face sunlight, tiny vampire!”

Bog pulled, Marianne was partially dragged into the light but kept a firm grip on the couch. Which was less effective than she had hoped because the couch just started to move too. And everything became completely undone when Bog spared a hand to tickle her sides and she let go of the couch to try and protect herself while shrieking at this unexpected attack.

“Got you!” Bog scooped her up in a hug, laughing even when the back of her head smacked into his chin as she writhed to escape the attack

“I am going to _rip_ you lips off!” She gasped, shaking from laughter.

Bog pressed his endangered lips behind Marianne’s ear.

“No, no!” Marianne flailed, “That tickles too!”

This just encouraged Bog to kiss her again. Several more times.

“This is cruel and unusual,” Marianne complained, but not too loudly. The ticklishness was wearing off now that she wasn’t surprised, and the fizzing energy of anger had burned off, making the situation not altogether unpleasant, “hey, you shaved today.”

“That I did,” Bog dropped onto the floor and settled Marianne on his lap, “I had to run over here and show you.”

“That you actually have skin under the sandpaper?”

“Exactly. That, or I wanted to drop off some groceries so we can all make dinner tonight. Or maybe my lips were burning.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that. Erase it from your mind!” Marianne turned around to press her fingertips against his temples, “Forget!”

Bog gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

“Stop looking so horribly, handsomely smug and _forget_.”

“Forget what?” Bog asked innocently before kissing her again.

“Hm,” Marianne slid her arms around Bog’s neck, “I forget. I’m sure it has something to do with kissing. We should keep doing that until we remember.”

“Good idea.”


	7. Things You Said While You Were Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butterfly Bog tumblr prompt, beware nerds and bittersweet fluff
> 
> also a song to listen to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8Sqjtdtzw0&index=6&list=PLgcROhV9BF4eyCOBckeED7rMS8GqJnKJI

_[a song to listen to while reading](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8Sqjtdtzw0&index=6&list=PLgcROhV9BF4eyCOBckeED7rMS8GqJnKJI) _

 

It had been a bad week.

Nothing bad had actually happened, which just made it worse. Bog felt flat and miserable even though he had no reason to. The end of summer was still lingering so the days were warm and bright, Marianne was meeting up with him at the restaurant that evening to enjoy some leisure time together since they were both between projects. They had gathered up enough people for paintball that weekend and Bog had been looking forward to it.

Now he wasn’t looking forward to anything. An array of good things was laid before him like a feast but he had no appetite. It wasn’t even that he was revolted. He just didn’t _care_. Every step, every word, they were all meaningless motions. The future was laid out in front of Bog, flat and straight and never changing. He got up in the morning because it was what you were supposed to do, not to move toward any goal.

The sight of Marianne waiting for him at the restaurant’s bar did not cheer him up. He should have been happy to see her. Should have been happy. Because of one thing or another they had barely seen each other in more than passing over the past couple of weeks. Marianne crawling into bed next to him in the middle of the night, too exhausted to do more than mumble a few words. Then a quick kiss on his cheek in the morning before he got out of bed, looking up just in time to see the back of Marianne’s paint-stained overalls before the door shut.

Bog bent over and kissed the top of Marianne’s head because that was what he always did. She took his hand and kissed the purple flower inked at the base of his left-hand ring finger.

“Long time no see,” She said, resting her hand on his shoulder as she often did.

It felt heavy and wrong. Bog’s skin crawled, his brain not sure how to process the touch. He knew he should put his arm around Marianne’s waist and pull her as close as the barstools allowed. His arm wouldn’t move. He knew what to do, how to act. Why couldn’t he just _do_ it? Marianne would notice eventually and call him out. Ask why her husband didn’t love her enough to pull himself out of a sulk.

They ordered drinks.

“You sure that’s okay with your medications?” Marianne asked after the bartender went to fix their drinks.

“Once in awhile won’t hurt,” Bog shrugged, knowing he should change his order to a soda or something. But he had already made his order and the idea of calling the bartender back over and going through the process was exhausting.

And really, how much harm could one drink do?

* * *

 

“C'mon, you long bag of bones,” Marianne shoved Bog into the bedroom, “just a few more steps and you can fall over. Hungover Bog is totally getting an earful in the morning, believe me.”

Drunk Bog tripped over his feet and fell sideways onto the bed. This apparently amused him, judging by the wheezing giggling. Marianne sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed to undo the straps of her shoes. She had dressed to impress and she hadn’t even gotten so much as a ‘wow’. If she had known she was going to have to lug her husband back home she would have worn flats.

“Maybe dinner out wasn’t the best idea,” Marianne pulled off her stockings and stood up, “We should have taken the lightsabers to the park and impressed all the kids with our sweet jedi moves.”

“Imma Sith lord …” Bog objected, his voice slurred with alcohol and fuzzy with his accent, which had gone from a tantalizing hint of a burr to so strong that it made him nearly impossible to understand at times.

“Don’t split hairs with me,” Marianne pulled off Bog’s shoes and tossed them into the closet. Bog hated having shoes strewn all over the bottom of the closet. Marianne tossed her shoes in too, “Karaoke. We should have done karaoke.”

“Sorry …”

“Don’t bother apologizing until you’re sober and it counts. I’ll be mad then.”

“. . . mad at me?” Bog rolled awkwardly to follow Marianne to the other side of the bedroom when she went to unhook her robe from the painting easel crammed in a corner with boxes of scrap metal.

Oh, Marianne was mad. She was a little misty-eyed too, because she had been looking forward to their night out and had not expected Bog to get himself absolutely smashed. It was just so _stupid_. If he’d wanted to unwind like that they could have just stayed home and let him embarrass himself in private.

Right now she was too tired to be wholeheartedly mad. Even if she had the energy she knew her tirade would be lost on Bog. Also, Bog had sung slurred love songs in a thick Scottish accent to her all the way home and it was hard to be mad at his drunken sincerity.

“I’m saving it up and letting it ripen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you,” Marianne said, walking toward the bathroom, “not until–”

Bog snagged her around the waist and pulled her onto the bed. He held her tight, nose pressed into her shoulder blade, fingers kneading her shoulders, “I can move now.”

“More or less,” Marianne agreed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”

“I’ll forgive you eventually. I can’t right now, when you reek of booze and bad decisions.”

“I’m sorry. I do love you. I really do. Sometimes I can’t … but I _do_.”

“Bog, are you okay?” Marianne got herself free and turned around to find tears pouring down Bog’s face. That was new. He had never been a weepy drunk. Not that he really ever got past the tipsy stage as long as she had known him.

“I’m fine … fine …”

“What a bare-faced lie. C'mon, scoot over, get that pillow behind your head. Okay, good. I am so destroying you tomorrow, but right now feel free to babble out your woes.”

Marianne laid down next to Bog and was instantly caught up in a hug again. Bog hid his wet face in the curve of her neck and continued to mumble about being sorry.

“Sometimes … 'times I can’t move. Can’t think. Full of mud …”

“Oh …” Marianne suddenly got a clue. She’d been so wrapped up in the busyness of life and the evening that she hadn’t even stopped to think, “Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were having a gray day?”

“Ow!” Bog fell back on the pillows, holding his head where Marianne had smacked him.

Marianne grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up until they were nose to nose, “How many times to I have to tell you I understand? You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Not with me!”

“I like your eyes.”

“This is not time to be sweet!”

“Like light through honey …”

It was getting even harder to be mad.

She dropped him back onto the bed and lay down on her own side to stare and the ceiling and think.

“Well, obviously we’re making an appointment tomorrow to get your meds adjusted.”

“ … ’m fine …” Bog murmured, snuggling up next to her and burying his face in her hair, “just a bad week …”

“Pretty bad, considering how much booze your threw back tonight,” Marianne gave his chest a pat and let herself be snuggled.

“ … love you. Really do.”

“I know, I know,” she rubbed the back of his neck, “but do you know how much a love you? I love you through all the bad days, Bog. You don’t have to hide them from me.”

“I don’t want you to think … I don’t love you. I look at you and I should love you … not feel … nothing. All the times I looked at you and I couldn’t breathe, I loved you so much. Then it goes away. It all goes gray. I don’t … I don’t want to stop loving you.”

“Same here, lovely pine tree. If we split up I’d have to get my tattoo removed.”

Marianne held her hand up and looked at the little purple flower she’d gotten instead of a wedding ring. Rings got in the way when you were building canvases and scrubbing paint off the walls. Tattoos stayed put and didn’t get lost down the drain.

She reached out and laced her hand with Bog’s, their tattoos lost in the tangle of fingers.

She worried about Bog. Sometimes she felt that he’d fade away to smoke and be swept away by the wind. He worried about the same thing. He held on so tight sometimes. Sometimes he couldn’t hold on, for all he wanted to. So she wrapped her arms around him and held him twice as tightly to keep him from flying away.

“You’re really pretty, Mari.”

“Thanks for noticing, handsome.”

“You … got hair. Good. Nice. And your dress is really, really … swishy.”

“Swishy?”

“Like, the skirt … swish swish.”

“That almost makes sense. Thank you, this skirt does swish nicely.”

“You staying here tonight?”

“Seeing as we’re married and share this apartment … yeah, I’m staying.”

Bog started giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

“I bet you snore.”

“Ugh. I’m going to go take off my makeup, Bog. You go to sleep.”

“Nooo!” Bog pulled her closer, “you’re _staying_. Because you love me.”

“I really should have thought to film this. Fine, I’m staying. Just don’t throw up on my swish swish dress. Go to sleep, you lush, I love you.”

“Mmmm,” Bog hummed happily.

Marianne wiggled around until she could face Bog and reach over to run her fingers through his short hair. He had gotten a haircut recently, probably for their date. He said he didn’t know how to love her, how to care, but he had gotten his hair cut and bought a new shirt. He had come to the restaurant when he could have stayed home. He tried so hard.

“I love you, Bog. Neither of us are going anywhere.”

Bog’s eyes were closed but he smiled at her words and the touch of her fingers in his hair. He was drifting off and Marianne thought she might as well repay him for some of the songs he had serenaded her with that day. Softly, she sang:

 _If I had my way,_  
I’d spend every day right by your side  
And if I could stop time,  
Believe me I’d try for you and I  
And each moment you’re gone,  
Is a moment too long in my life  
So stay right here, right now

 _So just say you’ll promise me,_  
Please, take me if you ever leave  
My heart breaks with every beat,  
I die every day that you’re away from me …


	8. Things You Said Too Quietly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda Subtle (Stuff and Thang) tumblr prompt

“ _Thane_!”

Thane shook his head, thinking he might have heard something. It was probably Bog and he had probably been calling for awhile now. Thane wondered if he pretended to be oblivious and just continued working Bog would give up. With unsteady fingers, Thane lined up another nail to hammer into the wall frame he was working on.

A large hand in a heavy work-glove landed on his shoulder, making him flinch.

“Oh, hi, Steph,” Thane said, breaking into a grin in his relief that it wasn't Bog behind him, “W-what's up?”

Steph said something that Thane didn't catch but it was easy to tell from her expression that she was impatient and irritated. Thane pushed up his glasses and focused in the faint grumble of Steph's voice, blocking out the racket of construction around him.

“--wrong wall.”

“Long fall? Long fall from where?”

“ _Wrong wall_. You're working on the _wrong wall_.”

“I am?” Thane looked around in surprise. He had been sure Bog had said this wall.

“We've got to finish the frame on the other side before we can put this one in place. Weren't you listening this morning?”

“I . . . yes? Sorry?” Thane shoved his hardhat back when it slipped forward, “I was listening. Very hard.”

“Yeah, but how much did you _hear_?” Steph asked, hands on her wide hips.

“ . . . a bit?”

“A bit,” Steph said flatly. She turned away, saying something else that Thane couldn't catch.

“What?” he asked, coming around so he could see her face. It wasn't that he could lip-read, exactly, but seeing people's faces when they were talking helped give some context.

“Nothing,” Steph shook her head, “just do what you were doing, but do it on _that_ wall.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Thane scurried over to where he had been directed, shrinking his small frame a little lower to avoid the dark looks Bog was casting at him. Steph followed behind, handing Thane the hammer he had left by the wrong wall in his hurry to correct himself.

Steph's cool competence was something Thane both admired and envied. Nothing rattled her. Not even Bog, most of the time. She did her work well and quickly without having to be told twice and could lift massive piles of construction materials on her broad shoulders like it was nothing. She could probably kill someone with her bare hands without ever breaking out of her deadpan expression.

Thane sighed wistfully. She was so gorgeous.

* * *

 

“Why haven't you gotten your hearing aides yet?” Steph asked that evening at the bar.

Most of the construction crew came here at the end of the day to grab a beer and watch whatever game happened to be on. Steph had a beer. Thane had a drink that he could never remember the name of but it had a little umbrella stuck in it so it looked sort of tropical. Steph always ordered it for him because whenever Thane talked to the bartender everyone got frustrated.

“I'm still talking with the insurance company about the hearing aides. They're expensive and they don't want to cover it unless I really need them.”

“Well, if they talked to you they should know you need them.”

“Yeah,” Thane said with a weak laugh, “sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Steph rumbled.

Thane tried not to sigh. Steph had such a beautiful, deep voice. Apparently it was a common trait among the women of her family, enhanced in Steph's case by years of smoking. She had quit that a few years back because Bog didn't allow cigarettes on site and it was just too much bother to dodge across the street all the time just to get a nicotine fix.

Steph said something else.

“What? Deer fruit?”

“Nothing.”

Steph waved a large hand. A couple of bangles on her wrist gleamed in the dim light. Once the work day was over she'd put a couple of flower clips in her hair and don a few odds and ends of jewelry. Then a touch of green eyeshadow and a light coat of golden sparkles on her dark face. She had referred to this on occasion as, “the lingering effects of culturally enforced gender roles.”

Thane thought she looked nice.

“Talk to Bog,” Steph said, returning to the topic of Thane's hearing aides, “He'll help you wrangle with the insurance people.”

Thane slid a few inches down in his chair, “He doesn't like me.”

“Yes, he does.”

“What, really?” Thane scooted back up.

“Everybody likes you. They think you're . . . that you're . . .”

Thane squinted, trying to see Steph's face, but the light was behind her, “Mute?” he guessed, “Loot?”

“They like you,” Steph said firmly.

“I'm annoying,” Thane said, picking at the pattern of his yellow knit vest. He liked to dress up nice, but he was never sure he got it right. Most people seemed to think his yellow vests were funny and that his thick-framed glasses make him even more goggle-eyed.

Steph always said he looked okay, though.

“Nah, you're . . .”

“Feet? Did you say feet? Do I smell like feet? I changed my shirt and socks and everything after work, why would I--”

“You smell _fine_. C'mon, let's pay the tab and split.” 

* * *

 

Steph and Thane lived in the same apartment building so she always gave him a ride back.

Thane had a car but driving made him nervous. They had first gotten to know each other after Thane got into a small fender bender on the way to work and Bog sent Steph to pick him up. She found him having a low key meltdown and profusely and repeatedly apologizing to everyone involved. Steph had proceeded to stick him in the back of her car, take his insurance papers out of his hand, and give him a package of twinkies. Somehow she sorted everything out  and they were on their way to the site not even ten minutes after Steph had arrived at the accident.

After that they always carpooled. Neither of them suggested it, Steph just knocked on his apartment door one morning and said they were taking her car. And that was that.

Thane had found himself instantly smitten with this efficient amazon and often found himself feeling glum because she was so far out of his league. He was sure she must think he was kind of a loser, and probably thought his skinny frame laughable. He was stronger than he looked, but that didn't seem to matter to anyone. All they saw was a nervous little man with goggle eyes.

Going about his usual nightly routines, Thane thought about talking to Bog about the whole insurance business. Steph seemed to think it was a good idea. But, Thane thought as he sprinkled food into his goldfish's tank, Steph was Steph. She wasn't afraid of anything.

The goldfish—Phil—gulped down his dinner with gusto. He had originally belonged to Steph, until Thane had visited her apartment and flipped out. Thane still winced at the memory. But she had been keeping Phil in a _bowl_. No room, no filter, nothing. He had confiscated the mistreated fish and stormed off back to his apartment in a huff.

He had spent the night clutching the fish bowl and freaking out over shouting at Steph, the beautiful, super-smart, super-cool Steph. After that she definitely thought he was a weirdo. And a fish kidnapper. But the next morning Steph had knocked on the door to take him to work. Once they got into the car she said in her usual gruff voice, “I didn't know you shouldn't keep goldfish in bowls. What should I get to put him in?”

Thane was pretty sure that was the moment he fell completely in love with her.

Thane had an old tank in storage and they set it up in his apartment and decided on joint custody of Phil, who had since grown to be two inches longer in the space of his new home.

“What do you think, Phil? Should I call Bog for help?”

Phil mouthed soundlessly at Thane.

“That's what everybody says.”

* * *

 

A couple of weeks later Thane dashed down to Steph's apartment, tripping on the stairs and nearly tumbling down them head-first.

“Steph, Steph, it came, it came!”

“What came?” Steph asked, filling the open door with her large body. Her hair was frizzy like she had just gotten out of bed.

Thane shrank down a few inches, “Were you asleep?”

“Don't feel well. Got a cold.”

“Oh, um, I just . . . I ordered a DVD of Trolls and it finally came today. I thought you would watch it with me, but . . . sorry.”

“Is that ice-cream?”

“Yeah. Pistachio.”

“I will watch anything if you bring that ice-cream in here.”

“Okay!” Thane bounced into the apartment, heading for the DVD player.

Behind him, Steph shut the door and let out a raspy little sigh, “This is exactly why I love you, you adorable idiot.”

Thane froze, the DVD case falling out of his hand.

He had . . . no, that had definitely not . . . he had misheard again . . . but . . .

Very slowly, Thane turned around to face Steph. She looked at his shocked face with confusion.

“What, is it the wrong movie?”

“I—I also came today to tell you that—that I talked to Bog like you said and I got . . .” Thane swallowed hard, trying to get his voice to come out stronger than a pained whisper, “I got my hearing aides today.”

There was a subtle play of expressions on Steph's face. There was the beginning of a pleased smile which was cut off by a look of confusion before a look of shock swept everything else away.

“You heard me.”

“Yes.”

“That—that's great.”

“Y-yeah, I spent all morning listening to birds . . .”

“That is . . .” Steph covered her mouth with one hand, but Thane could still hear her, “. . . adorable.”

A electric shock tingled down Thane's spine as a rare moment of clarity lit up his brain, “Fruit! Deer fruit! You were saying—did you say— _you're cute_?”

A long pause.

“Yes.”

“Do you . . .” Thane was hugging the carton of ice-cream and the frost on the outside was melting and making his shirt damp, “I mean, I've always . . . you're so . . . awesome. You think I'm _cute_?”

“You are so flipping adorable I can't stand it.”

“You _like_ me?”

Steph put her fists on her hips and look off to the side, “Yeah.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Me_?”

“ _Yeah_. Is that so weird? You're just so sweet and happy all the time . . .”

“But I'm so dumb. And my eyes are all bugged and I'm annoying and I never do anything right and--”

Steph walked over to him and took the carton of ice-cream out of his arms. The sides of it were cracked and smears of green ice-cream were leaking out. She set it on the coffee table and then wrapped Thane in a hug.

“It's okay, stop freaking out.”

“But, but--”

“Calm down, okay?”

Thane found himself exactly where he had wanted to be since he had met Steph. And it was as nice as he had imagined. She was very strong, but also soft and warm.

“You smell real good,” he sighed.

“Thanks,” Steph patted his head, “So . . . do _you_ like _me_?”

“Of _course_!”

“Okay, good. I had to check.”

Steph bent down to kiss him and Thane saw stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this one


	9. First Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Glad to hear your in a writing mood! More than happy to oblige a prompt request, how about a babies First Christmas in ArtSchool AU, doesn't matter which or who's baby, what ever you feel like

“Are you guys serious.”

Dawn stood in the doorway of Marianne and Bog’s living room, an apparition of holiday cheer in a sweater decorated with peppermint candies, socks covered in Christmas trees, and a scarf and headband covered with jingle bells. She looked with distaste and disbelief at the complete absence of Christmas decorations. She looked in bewilderment at Marianne and Bog stretched out on a comforter on the floor, their six month old daughter Callie tucked between them, snoring.

“I did not order the family-sized judgment,” Marianne groaned. She pulled up a corner of the comforter and rolled herself in it, “Leave us to wallow in our barbarism. We’re sick. We’re dying. Promise me you’ll take care of Callie.”

Callie coughed.

“It’s the day before Christmas Eve!” Dawn said.

“Christmas Eve Eve,” Sunny agreed, entering the room. He was wearing a headband with two tiny Christmas trees bobbling on the end of green springs like holiday themed alien antenna, “And it’s Callie’s first Christmas!”

“Like she even knows. She’s six months old. And I’m Jewish. So she’s Jewish. We’re exempt and Hanukkah ended three days ago.” Bog patted the folds of his comforter until he found his phone and checked the time. “Love, it’s time for Callie’s meds. Whose turn is it?”

“Let’s arm wrestle. Loser gets up.”

“So it’s your turn, then.”

Marianne groaned and unrolled herself from the comforter. Dawn helped her get to her feet. “If you’re going to die then why aren’t you doing it on the couch or bed? It would be more comfortable.”

“The bed is upstairs,” Marianne picked up Callie and wrapped a blanket around both of them like a poncho, “We’ve given up on upstairs. Upstairs is dead to us. To get there we’d have to climb up stairs.”

“And the couch?” Sunny asked. He was gently patting Callie’s hair to soothe her before she took offense at being moved.

“Callie threw up on it.”

“Ah.”

Leaving the room Marianne threw over her shoulder, “Bog, If I don’t come back remember that I love you and I want a viking burial.”

“Same here, if I’m dead when you get back.”

“Give me my niece,” Sunny demanded, “You’re both unfit caretakers.”

Marianne passed Callie over and staggered into the kitchen to search the fridge for ginger ale. “Take care of her or I’ll break your kneecaps. I kind of like the kid.”

“Unfit.” Sunny repeated.

“We’re taking custody.” Dawn said firmly.

“I will cough on both of you.” Marianne rasped, wobbling over to the barstools at the kitchen counter. She sat down and laid her face on the counter. “We’re out of soda. I’m going to die.”

“You’ll like living with us, Callie,” Dawn cooed, rubbing the baby’s back before she picked up the bottle of cold medicine, “We’re got a tree and stockings and wreathes and everything. And you’ve got just enough hair that I can put little Christmas bows on you.”

“We have a tree.” Marianne said.

“Where?” Dawn and Sunny demanded.

“Here,” Bog came in, wearing the comforter like the mantel of a weary king. He held up a car air freshener shaped like a pine tree. He hung it on the fridge with a magnet.

Marianne peeled off one of her socks and stuck it next to the air freshener. “Stocking.” She fished in the pocket of her pajama pants until she found a coughdrop to put in the sock. “Candy.”

Sunny held Callie tighter and whispered to her, “We’re your parents now, sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay.”

Callie sneezed on his neck.

“Return my child,” Marianne said, reclaiming Callie. Bog spread his arms so the comforter opened up like the entrance of a tent. Marianne got under it and Bog wrapped her up. “Leave this place of death and dying. Go back to your happy world of cheer and glitter.”

“Nuh uh,” Dawn shook her head, making the jingle bells on her headband jangle, “We’re here to minister to those in need this holiday season. You’re gonna let us decorate this place in exchange for chicken soup, ginger ale, and any other last requests you would like fulfilled.”

“Clean the couch and we’ll let you paint us with candy can stripes.”

Dawn clapped her hands, “The tree is in the car! It’s a little baby one for my little baby niece!”

“Great. Have fun.” Bog picked up Marianne and Callie, all them them still wrapped in the comforter. “Bring soup. You know where to find us.”

“The Grinchs have been subdued!” Dawn crowed, “It’s Christmas in Whosville!”

“What’s this for?” Sunny dragged over a cardboard cutout of a Christmas tree away from the back door.

“We were going to paint it,” Bog said, “Back when we were among the living. And let Callie paint it.”

“Aw, you were never grinchs at all!” Dawn said happily, “You’d better do that when you get well and film it!”

“It won’t be Christmas then,” Marianne pointed out.

“Callie is six months old, I don’t think she’ll notice.”

“Just bring us soup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and/or Happy Monday!


End file.
